"The Little Mermaid" = a childhood memory?! NOW I feel ancient.
When I was a kid, I didn't angst over the fact that I didn't look like Barbie or her friends. They had boobs! I knew very well that it was not uncommon for little girls not to have those, at least not the D-cup variety. I was busy angsting over my legs, actually. Rather, angsting over the fact that I had legs. I wanted to be a mermaid, see. I blame Disney for all of my childhood trauma and current lack of self-esteem. Forget my late development of social skills resulting from an isolated childhood, and the hidden, genetic gluten allergy that created a visible weight problem around grade 3, called to my attention at age 8 by the disdainful criticism of my grandmother and aunt, whose interest and attention I was only worthy of once I had lost the weight in high school. FUCK YOU, DISNEY.